


Cui Bono

by MsYukari, oceansinmychest



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Angst, Collaboration, Complete, Eventual Smut, F/F, Foreshadowing, One Shot, Power Dynamics, Psychological Warfare, Season/Series 05, Smut, some religious symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 10:42:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12252717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsYukari/pseuds/MsYukari, https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceansinmychest/pseuds/oceansinmychest
Summary: After her birthday, Vera visits Joan in the laundry room. This is the escalation of psychological warfare.





	Cui Bono

**Author's Note:**

> oceansinmychest: After nearly a month of on-again/off-again work, this piece is now complete. Thirty six pages and much discussion later, we're proud to announce that this piece is done. The title, Cui Bono, refers to a legal term that translates to the following: "to whose benefit?" Eager to collaborate, I approached MsYukari with the general idea. All of Joan's parts are written by myself; MsYukari wonderfully took on Vera. It was a fun challenge to take on; I'm a bit sad that it's over. Do have fun reading this wild ride. xx'
> 
> MsYukari: When oceansinmychest first approached me with doing a collab, I was happy to take it on as it was something I was thinking about for a while, so I jumped at the idea. It was a long time of writing, where I often neglected my own stories to get this completed because it was fun! It generated a lot of discussion about the characters and the show. I'm happy I asked her to do her interpretation of Joan and my interpretation of Vera as I feel this worked best for both our writing styles. It was fun, challenging, and moving in some ways and I'm also a little sad it's over too. But all good things must come to an end. :)

For Joan Ferguson, her reign remained as unwavering as her iron resolve. From Governor to prisoner, she knew the ways of these filthy, little pigs. The inmates needed a guiding hand: an authority figure to keep them in line. Regardless of the role she played, Joan had done just that.

In the laundry room, they crowded around and paid tribute to Wentworth's newest Top Dog. At the steam press, Ferguson stood tall. Her shadow stretched across the room. Crooked.

The sound of Stravinsky consumed this hallowed ground. A score from  _ La Sacre du Pritemps  _ allows for Joan to be carried by the music. For everything, there was a purpose – a greater good to emphasize her cruel decisions.

“Leave,” she commanded with a simple flick of her tongue.

One word carried an impressive magnitude that had the other women scurrying out like the vermin they were. Her injured hand fell lax by her side, covered by the medical brace. The other caressed the handle of the steam press. In one fell swoop, it came crashing down. Her mechanization, while exaggerated, was intentional. The performance was not for herself, but the spectator bound to enter this room.

Steam obscured her immaculate image, a wisp masking her arrogant face. Expressionless, abysmal eyes lingered on the door.

“Hello, Vera.”

Vera stared at Joan, trying to see beyond the steam that seemed to surround the taller woman as if she was behind a smoke screen. But wasn’t that all Joan Ferguson was? A giant smoke screen that disguised her real intentions and motivations until she was ready to go in for the kill?

Two officers flanked Vera and she didn’t think she’d be able to get anywhere with Joan with them still here.

“You’re dismissed,” she said firmly.

“But Governor--”

“Leave us. I will handle this.”

Vera waited until they left before she turned to Joan. She was working the steam press and it was a rather intimidating display to see the former Governor now take the position of Top Dog, as if she was always meant to do this. No matter how hard Vera tried, she would still live in Joan’s shadow.

Joan ran her prison inside and out, no matter what position she found herself in. It irritated Vera to know that she’d never be free of her, but there was also the small part of her that didn’t want to be free of her… that craved their interactions. There was a seductive quality to Joan, a dangerous one and that was also what drew Vera to her. That menacing, often unpredictable nature. It disrupted Vera’s life, she hated it and wanted it at the same time. 

She was like a moth to the flame and despite her best intentions, she found herself becoming more like the woman as time went on.  _ But my actions and motivations are different. We are not the same. I have learned nothing from her. She’s committed her most despicable crime yet: cutting off Lucy Gambaro’s tongue, and then gave it to me in a box. How very medieval of her.  _

She stood in front of Joan and she could feel the heat of the steam and she felt a sudden urge to undo her tie. 

“Hello, Joan. I see you’ve taken your  _ rightful  _ place at the steam press.”

In the art of war, one could never let their guard down. Ever the observant one, Ferguson noticed the way in which Governor Bennett led. Her hounds nipped at her heels, employing the Roman infantry tactic of flanking. Arching a brow, she watched as the forward march came to a halt.

_ Ah, so you would dare confront me alone. You think yourself brave with those crowns; don't you, Vera? _

At the dismissal, Joan smirked.

The quip should have been so very... predictable. After all, Vera Bennett was a plain, diminutive woman. For years, the board overlooked her promotion; simply put, she was undeserving of the starring role. Raising a brow, she didn't dare give her former prodigy the satisfaction of an emotional response.

"Ha."

Unimpressed, her tongue struck the roof of her mouth. With a fluid sort of grace, she lifted the press up by the handle. This time, there was more force to the act: a thrust worthy of a sexual connotation.

From the strain, Joan's breathing grew ragged. She regulated the intake of air through flared nostrils. Beneath sealed lips, she gritted her teeth. Aggression dictated her movements. Even in solitude, the Devil commanded an almighty presence.

"There simply isn't any bite to your bark. Consider me disappointed, Vera."

_ I had such high hopes for you. _

Smoke danced across the room. She acted as though she was unfazed by the heat. Shrouded in the fine vapor, she appeared like a phantom menace, adhering to this assumption that she was not Joan Ferguson, but a ghost.

Ghosts carried a hunger and a haunt with them.

Rather than allowing Vera to speak, she continued to articulate herself cordially. Her silken tone contained an underlying threat.

Her scarred hand flicked through the air before joining her good one on the handlebar. Down, the press went again. Harder,  _ faster _ .

"To go wrong in one's own way is  **better** than to go right in someone else's. Dostoyevsky wrote that in his classic that's quoted by beatniks and debunked scholars. They skim across the surface, choosing what suits them at face value. There's no deeper probing; I find it rather... lacking, but I suppose you haven't  _ come _ for that."

She laced her speech with deliberate innuendo. Those eyes ate Miss Bennett alive. The stare acted as a headlight determined to knock the petite woman over from their unfathomable intensity.

"Have you come to punish me, Governor? To correcT my... unsavory behavior?"

Vera narrowed her eyes at the question, taking notice of the emphasis on the “T” as she said “correct.” Vera had grit her teeth while she listened to Joan’s little condescending speech. She was frustrated and angry at the statements Joan just made about her. Some were true and some were too close to home. Vera hated how observant Joan was.

Vera had let Joan into her life in some way, had let her guard down, and now all she felt was contempt for her, a sense of betrayal at this woman who had wanted to mentor her. She felt burned by Joan. _ Why do I keep letting myself be used and manipulated?  _ Vera tried to ignore this pull she had towards Joan. Something kept her coming back and she wasn’t sure why… she didn’t want to think about why. The moment she’d let herself indulge in certain thoughts and fantasies, she’d lose herself, and she couldn’t afford to do that. Not here, not right now.  _ So why am I here? Focus… I need to focus. _

Joan was still raising and lowering the steam press. It was done in an aggressive and intimidating fashion. Vera knew what she was trying to do. This device was often used as a punishment. That was not lost on her. She was afraid of Joan since this incident with Gambaro. 

She never thought she’d ever do something that horrible. It was made even worse after Joan sent her Gambaro’s severed tongue and she did this on her birthday. It was some kind of sick, morbid gift she didn’t understand. Was Joan trying to threaten her? There had to be more to it than Joan trying to become Top Dog. 

Vera was nervous and afraid as she moved closer to Joan, getting inside her personal space. She stood very close to the steam press and it felt even hotter. Sweat gathered on the back of her neck. Vera felt like if fear could come out of her pores, it would. Did Joan smell fear? It sure seemed she was able to.  _ I’m afraid, but like most things that cause fear, there is also a thrill as well. This feeling I have… it’s adrenaline and something else. I have more bite than you know. _

“It would be very easy to punish you, to say to hell with your lawyers and put you into the slot, take away your privileges. Do you think it’s that easy to just ‘correcT’ behavior? To say your behavior has been unsavory is putting it mildly. I don’t know what to do anymore, Joan. I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t. Is everything about punishment to you? Is it that black and white? Is it  _ fixable _ by punishment? Is that what you’re doing with me?”

She looked up at Joan and saw the woman in teal and thought of how she was powerful, but also a shell of the woman she once was. The teal uniform did nothing for her figure, not like the governor’s uniform once did. Vera straightened her shoulders, making her crowns visible. 

She lifted her hand, which shook a little, and placed her hand on the bar of the steam press. She pushed down slowly and then back up. The steam came out more and she could see it surround them, and she felt a little breathless with the heat being this close. There was so much smoke now that she could see only the faint outlines of Joan’s face, but her eyes… her eyes were the most visible. They were dark and penetrating and she felt herself start to get lost in them once again.

“I’m not sure why you did what you did Joan… why you cut out Gambaro’s tongue, why you sent it to me. I don’t presume to understand your intentions, but what I do know is that you’re not fit to be Top Dog, just like you were never fit to be Governor.”

Vera smirked and looked at the steam press and she tightened her hand around the handle, trying to stop her hand from shaking.  _ Do not lose your nerve. _

“And this little display, let me remind you of what happened to Jacs Holt during her reign of terror. I’ve let many people walk over me, you included. I’m not going to let you keep doing that. I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again.” Vera made one final push as she brought down the steam press forcefully. “You can’t intimidate me.”

Master of her fate, Joan anticipated the long run rather than seeking instant gratification. Once, she cared for Vera in her own way though she had been seemingly incapable of conveying genuine emotion. That rumination took her mind back to Sinclair and how she expressed her desire to feel empathy. She banished the memory with another savage press. Straightened herself out.

_ You've betrayed me, Vera. I don't take betrayal lightly. _

“Need I remind you that you are no saint in the matter? You've committed some deplorable acts yourself. _ ” _

She kept her cards close to her chest, refusing to reveal the end game. Thin lips twitched. Through the clouded haze, her heady stare traced over the curves of Vera's uniform. In comparison, the teal bore a resemblance to a pile of unsightly rags; it's not tailored to fit her statuesque form. She was swimming in them,  **drowning** in them.

_ I cared for you and perhaps that was my fatal flaw: my hamartia. _

With an insatiable hunger, she focused on the crowns that adorned the little mouse's fragile shoulders. How easy it would be to knock the current Governor – an impostor – from her pedestal. At the thought, she wet her lips, perfectly imagining Vera's fall from grace. How delicious.

"You wouldn't. You've your precious humanity. Your bleeding heart is pinned to your sleeve, dear Vera. You're too reckless; all the wolves will feast upon it."

_ Myself included. _

Again, she clicked her teeth. Belittled her pupil. Sought to cast her down.

Closer, the moth waltzed towards the fire.

She inhaled.

Like a shark in water.

"I can smell your fear."

Joan leaned forward, her curved mouth as lethal as a cutting scythe.

"I could have shown you so much." Her chest heaved with the telltale ministrations of breath, the pair of sweats provided no comfort in combating the hellish heat that consumed the laundry room. Ignoring the sauna-like atmosphere, her astute gaze fell to Miss Bennett's quivering hands.

There lied the last of her innocence.

"What? Getting a little hot for you?"

With a sardonic response, she leaned down in order to invade any conception of personal space. Her mouth hovered near the stiff collar of the Governor's uniform. A true apex predator always waited for the opportune moment to strike.

"You're correct to assume that. By cutting out the rot, I did what you dreamed of doing. That was my gift to you," she crooned her absolute truth.

She had groomed Miss Bennett to be her successor, not her usurper. The pictures of Jianna devastated her, still lingering in the dark cavern that made up her maze-like mind.

More than anything, she missed the sensation of slipping her dexterous fingers into leather. Thus, she focused on the act to follow. Her hand joined Vera's, resting on top where she forcibly laced her fingers.

With a forcible grunt, she pushed down, pressed her body closer to her prey's.

"My dear Vera, you're as  _ sick _ as I."

Vera felt Joan’s fingers lace through hers. They enveloped her hand. Her chest heaved with the heat in the room, and the close proximity of Joan. Her breath came fast and shallow when she felt Joan’s breath against her neck, her lips so close to her now that it could have been the kiss of death.

Vera, like Judas, felt like she had betrayed Joan in some way, only to save her own hide and protect her career. Except Joan was no Jesus. Vera’s actions were for the greater good as well.  _ Isn’t that what motivates Joan? What she believes to be the greater good? Should I turn the other cheek? And what does she mean by my deplorable actions? _

Vera searched Joan’s face, noticing the dark eyes and curved smile, looking like she wanted to eat Vera for breakfast. She shivered a little despite the heat in the room. She resisted the urge to take off her jacket, feeling the sweat on her back. The wisps of her hair curled as she stood in the room, the steam making it feel hot and humid.

Her mind’s eye flashed back to the time she gave her mother an overdose of morphine and she frowned. _That doesn’t make me like her, even though I knew what she was hinting at when she told me “take care of your mother.” Cutting out the rot?_ _What I dreamed of doing?_

She thought to when she’d first seen Gambaro’s tongue cut out. She was horrified and then a small part of her took a sick amount of pleasure in knowing that Gambaro finally paid for her disgusting actions. She remembered months ago when she was going to push Gambaro down the stairs, ready to severely injure her or possibly kill the woman.  _ I’m as sick as you are? _ She lifted her eyebrow and sighed.

Vera looked up into Joan’s eyes and she moved closer to Joan, breasts brushing up against hers. She would not be intimidated by her, so she was going to give Joan back exactly what she gave to her. An eye for an eye; a tooth for a tooth.

“You’re exactly right, Joan. I might be eaten up by the wolves in here, including one in sheep’s clothing, such as yourself. I’m aware of this. Except my bleeding heart is an advantage against your impervious nature. You don’t make friends easily for a reason. You can’t fit in, and it won’t be long before you’re ousted out. It didn’t take long for Franky Doyle or Bea Smith to lose their power. You will go down fast. To quote someone I used to know: ‘She’s also highly manipulative. The moment you feel sorry for her is the moment you know she is using you.’ Remind you of anyone?”

Vera pressed against Joan’s hand, squeezing it to keep from trembling. “You’re correct… I’m just as sick as you. To say such puts us both on the same level, so I’m glad you agree. But if I’m so  _ sick, _ why are you touching me?” She asked and pulled Joan down so she was even closer, whispering into her ear. 

“Why are you still drinking from the wine with a Judas?”

_ You can't fit in. _

Those words resonated. They struck a chord. Ever since she was young, she knew that her behavior differed from the rest. Simply put, it was abnormal. Teachers noted her aloof behavior: her difficulty in maintaining relationships among the other children. At such a young age, Joan felt an inherent distrust of others; she kept her heart hidden, as instructed by her father – Ivan – and his steady hand. Fencing became an outlet.

But another part of her, the fundamentally wrong one, sought to pick apart things to see how they work: be it a clock, an animal, the mind of a person – all of which was performed with a near surgical precision.

_ You're hampered by emotions, Joan. Crush them before they devastate you. _

The disillusioned were so apt to betray. Judas' silver was swapped for the gold, little crowns that her disciple smugly wore. It stung. She clenched her jaw, the ghost of her father a reminder of her flawed nature. Irritation ruined her passive mask. With flared nostrils, her right eyelid twitched. The slight curl of her upper lip served as an indicator for an underlying, bestial nature. How that monster howled and pounded against her rib cage now.

“How greedy you are; how inherently selfish. You take and you take. Remember: I made you into the proud woman you are today. Without me, you would be nothing. No one.  **Worthless** .”

Judas made his choice, just as Governor Bennett had thwarted Joan Ferguson of her former position. Now, she spat it out, unable to quell her festering aggravation. Boadicea stood upright not in a flowing gown or a uniform, but a pair of teal sweats. Nobly, she led against the invader (this precarious, diseased  _ vermin _ ) until the bitter end.

“Don't. Do not tread down that path.”

It split open a wound that never healed. Vera's mouth hissed venom into the shell of her ear; it was as close to a Judas kiss as they would come. At the offense, the hypocritical messiah glared daggers at Governor Bennett. A mirror stood true.  _ My reflection is you.  _ She saw a glimpse of herself in Vera; it was appalling. Despicable.

“I will not let go.”

Here stood her mea culpa.

“You reap what you sow, but do you practice what you  _ preach _ , Vera? One of you will betray me; one who is eating with me. Sound familiar?”

Now, she made a deliberate move across the chessboard. She snapped her teeth at Vera's throat before using her scarred hand to loosen the woman's tie.

“Remove your jacket. I want to see you for what you are.”

_ For what I've made you into. _

Vera felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up when Joan snapped her teeth. She was truly like a wolf stalking her prey. Vera felt like a lamb being sent to slaughter, except she was voluntarily heading towards her fate. She wasn’t sure if she felt fear or desire… or both. All she knew was that this was far more exhilarating than anything she’d shared with a man, and Joan was only holding her hand and breathing against her neck.

She hated to admit that she was molded by Joan. She hated that she wanted to emulate the woman and still did. Vera tried to take the positive characteristics of Joan, if such a thing existed, and use them to her advantage. 

_ Without me, you would be nothing. No one. Worthless. _

She often felt worthless, like she was no one. It reminded her of when Joan had said to her how her mother was right about her being a disappointment… of when she asked Jake why he liked her. It hit something deep inside her, and triggered the raw, painful feelings she still felt.

Vera looked into her eyes and her mouth grew dry. She felt breathless with the heat as Joan started loosening her tie. She swallowed and let Joan take off her tie when she heard the command for her to remove her jacket.

_ I want to see you for what you are. _

She didn’t want to give Joan the satisfaction that she was following her command, but it was so damn hot in here that Vera wondered if she might pass out. She quickly took off her jacket in halting movements. She was completely drenched in sweat, her uniform shirt sticking to her skin and she flushed even more if that were possible at how it clung to her breasts. It left little to the imagination and she unbuttoned a little of the top, breathing a little harder. The problem was, it felt hotter in here for other reasons… not just the temperature of the room.

“It’s funny that you mention betrayal at dinner. Yes, I betrayed you, just as you betrayed me. You’re no different than I am. You want me to practice what I preach? You said that night was forgotten, that it never happened. Yet, it seems to be seared into your brain just like it is mine. You can’t let that dinner go, yet you let go of my hand then… so why are you not letting go now?”

Joan was standing so close to her. She reached up down and pulled on the teal sweatshirt. 

“These hang on you, and despite you truly belonging in prison for your actions, I still have to admit that you fit the governor’s uniform much more than I do. How does it feel, Joan, to know that I’m just as much the disappointment that you thought I was?”

She started to lift Joan’s sweatshirt, placing her hand against her hip. The same hips she had stared at longingly without yet knowing that it was sexual attraction.

Vera raised herself on her tiptoes and almost lost her balance and she grabbed onto Joan’s forearms, gripping them tightly.  _ The only way to beat Joan, is to beat her at her own game. I have to go in for the kill… even if I burn my wings.  _ The temptation of the serpent of old was too strong. If she was to be damned like Judas, so be it. 

“How does it feel knowing you can’t prove anything for your case? That you’ll be stuck here for however long. You and I will be here, and perhaps I didn’t want you out of my hair. Perhaps I’ve kept you here for my own  _ selfish  _ reasons, so I can take and I can take, just like you said, because for once I have the power here and you don’t. I know how much you hate not being in control. I know you want to control me, and I’m actually willing to let you… because I secretly crave it too. Maybe I am greedy, but we have that in common, Joan.”

Vera slid her hand against Joan’s stomach over her white shirt, slowing lifting the sweater up against her breasts and stepped closer until their bodies were touching. She could feel how warm Joan was and she trembled slightly, afraid and excited at the same time. She pulled down Joan again by her sweatshirt, until their faces were close together. If she was to fall, she’d gladly fall for a dance with the Devil. 

“When are you going to admit that you’re just as obsessed with me as I am with you? Show me what you are,” she whispered and kissed her hard.

Somewhere along the way, the music stopped playing. The surge of blood pounding in her ears proved to be near deafening in volume or perhaps, perhaps, it was Vera's heart that Joan heard above the hiss of the steam press. For now, they neglected the machine, too preoccupied by one another. Sparkling onyx ventured down, as though she was captivated by Vera's form or even admiring a work of art.

With an arched brow, Joan looked her up and down. The muscle above her thin lips twitched, threatening to curve her mouth into a half-smirk, but the gesture fell short. Ever astute, she noticed the wrinkles in Vera's blouse. The way the sheer, white fabric clung to her breasts. The same as she noticed when Miss Bennett took her fall from grace, bathing in that vinegar baptism, Joan had appreciated the muscular curve of her legs.

“You think you've won. Do you escape me to grovel at your feet?”

Her prodigy bested her. At the offense, she had been sorely tempted to send the back of her hand across that pink, little cheek. Akin to a fencing match, some tactical maneuvering was required. Vera lunged forward, spitting venom and clutching at the loose-fitting sweatshirt.

“Recall when you delivered the box: your gift to me. You assured me that they were my  _ size _ . It seems you were wrong.”

Always needing the last word, this desire stemmed from her perfectionist roots. Curiously, she watched her opponent's movements. The grip on her forearms tightened ever so slightly, borderline vise-like. Truth be told, she felt the scorching wave of heat as well. Rather than giving Vera the satisfaction of a  **pathetic** , emotional response, she gave away  _ nothing _ . The white undershirt clung to her form in a much more enticing fashion, revealing the seductive swell of her hips.

“Have these lessons taught you nothing? Finish what you've started.”

In a counter-attack, she lowered her face. Narrowed her eyes while her gaze wandered over those full, trembling lips, dilated pupils, fluttering lashes, and that button nose. She stooped down to her disciple's level though never again would they see eye to eye.

“I know you've always wanted me, Vera.”

_ This is what you've made of me. _

Joan attacked, her lips against Vera's in mere seconds. It was an insatiable kiss, full of teeth and tongue. A growl rumbled in the pit of her stomach and almost escaped the confines of her throat. She hoped to make her bleed – to make the little mouse cry out for more in wanton expression.

Hands clawed at the sticky, white blouse. She yanked the remainder of the uniform from Vera's body. Long, graceful fingers spidered up her abdomen and caressed her collarbone before settling on the still of her back from behind. There, Joan sunk in her nails, leaving three angry, red marks in her wake.

Vera felt the soft and firm lips of Joan’s crash against hers and she rolled her tongue over Joan’s. She bit her lower lip and held tightly onto her arms, anchoring herself, but it also felt like Joan was keeping her there in a vise-like grip. Goosebumps erupted on her arms and skin when Joan removed the blouse and she realized that she was almost half naked. Her nipples hardened against the cups of her bra as they kissed.

Vera moaned into her mouth at the pain of her nails into her back, hissing a little. She pulled at Joan’s sweatshirt in an almost desperate attempt to take it off. It was in the way and she felt like she was so much smaller in comparison to the tall, intimidating woman. She lifted her hands and touched Joan’s hair, pulling the hair band out, running her fingers through it when she gripped her hair as Joan’s kiss became more demanding.

She reached under the sweatshirt and moved her hand against Joan’s bare skin, touching her back and dug her nails into her skin, matching the sharp feeling and scratching hard. Her heart was beating faster and flashes of Jake crossed her mind. She knew what a fool she was to think that he’d ever give her what she needed. Something awoke within her at this moment, repressed and simmering underneath the surface. She pulled Joan against her and broke their kiss.

Vera stared into her eyes and tried not to cover her body. It was the first time she’d ever been this exposed to Joan and the woman was still fully clothed.  _ It’s so fucking hot. I don’t even know how she’s able to stand it. _

Vera stroked her hair and pulled on it a little as she kissed her lips again. “Do you want me to grovel at your feet? Should I wash your feet with my tears and hair?”

She raked her nails over Joan’s face and cheeks, leaving red marks in their wake against the pale but flushed skin. Vera continued to rake her nails across her jaw and down her throat, resting at the collar bones.

“I want to feel it… the pain. I want you to make me feel it. Show me how I haven’t won,” she whispered.

The hopelessly devoted always hungered for a taste of something holy. Akin to reverent worship, Vera bent herself near backwards to cater to Ferguson's beck and call –  _ Hell _ , even her touch, no matter how  **destructive** it was. Ever the stoic, Joan refused to give her former deputy the satisfaction of an emotional response. It was too easy to lose yourself to emotions behind the bars: to fall susceptible to love, lust, or despair.

Though she was surprised by the mouse's insatiable hunger, it made perfectly logical sense; dear Vera longed for approval, craved the touch of those she placed on a pedestal. She allowed for Governor Bennett to yank out her ponytail without so much as a single verbal response. Instead, her thin lips quirked at the offense. Dark waves streamed past her shoulders, the iron strung throughout.

Predatory teeth caught Vera's bottom lip. Savagely, she tugged at her mouth, relinquishing her tongue's control of that velvety embrace. She bit down and sought to make her bleed. To make her hurt for her apparent betrayal.

Nails dug into her back. Nostrils flared. Beneath the unflattering uniform, a slick sheen of sweat dabbled across her skin and beaded along her temple. Her stare remained unrelenting, never wavering from Vera's image. Rather than delighting in the exposure, Joan savored the control Vera so desperately relinquished for a skilled hand.

The retaliation bore a resemblance to a kitten gaining its claws to the first time, mirroring the act of the more lethal one in the room. With distaste, she snapped the strap of Vera's bra before unfastening it, allowing for the piece of lingerie to fall to the ground. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

A thumbnail dug into a pert nipple that begged for her attention.

Two fingers – belonging to her scarred hand – dragged below the hollow indentation of Vera's collarbone. She dug in lightly, as a means to push the wanton woman a step or two away. The wicked game had yet to end. From beginning to end, she calculated her movement across the board. At a sluggish pace, she peeled off the sweats to reveal the white undershirt. The article fit her form much more graciously, clinging to the tantalizingly swell of her hips.

“Ah, ah.  _ Pathetic.  _ Look at you,” she ridiculed with an admonishing tut. “You’d want that, wouldn’t you? You've betrayed me three times.” The same amount of fingers were held up for emphasis; whether or not that was the truth remained an enigma.

Quicker than a viper, she lashed out. Plucked out the bobby pins that held Vera's tighter, more militaristic bun in place. Lazarus stood proud and tall, neither buried alive nor strangled by the hangman's noose. Sneering, the back of her hand coasted along her Judas' red, right cheek. It was an undignified caress.

“I can smell how  **wet** you are. Get on your knees, go on. Grovel. Beg for it,  _ Governor _ .”

And so the snake hissed not in the Garden of Eden, but a laundry room. The dark glint in her eye finally broke the ice; there was a hint of arousal to her malicious, borderline voyeuristic stare.

Vera flinched a little as Joan reached out and pulled the bobby pins from her hair, so fast before she caressed her cheek with her knuckles. It was an odd touch of affection with her harsh tone.

_ You’ve betrayed me three times. _

So Vera now fit a duality in betrayal, like Peter, she had denied Joan three times. She remembered these moments but they were justified, or so she thought at the time. Vera needed to do what was right for her, but she didn’t truly have loyalty to her. That was something that still bothered Vera, even though she felt she made the right decision. But what would have happened if she had stayed loyal to her? Should she have trusted Joan when she spoke of working towards the greater good? 

_I’m no saint._ _Let the one who is without sin cast the first stone._

Her nipples were even more sensitive with the press of Joan’s nails… her underwear now soaking and she didn’t know why. She didn’t know why she responded so strongly to Joan. Her words, her lips… her tongue. Her actual tongue that she gave her, not Gambaro’s.

_ Get on your knees. _

What a humiliating thing to say… for her to grovel. However, she knew she wanted to dip her hand into the bowl, just as she’d always done. She could not deny wanting this… wanting Joan.

Vera took her jacket and laid it on the floor. She looked up at Joan, breathing a little faster as she knelt down and wrapped her arms around Joan’s hips, lingering there in a gentle embrace, and kissed her stomach over the white shirt. She slid her arms and hands slowly across her thighs and then to her feet, her hands tracing over the white shoes.

She looked up at Joan and rested her face at her feet and then slowly started to untie the laces, removing the shoes and socks slowly. Her hands stroked the arches of her feet as she placed them onto her jacket so to protect her feet from the floor.

On her knees, she bowed low and her hair caressed Joan’s feet and she pressed her lips to the top of her foot. A gentle kiss as she wrapped her hand around Joan’s calf.

“Please…” She murmured softly, looking up at her.

Sometimes, it was better to rob Peter to pay Paul.

Breathing through her nose, a predatory gaze focused on the woman who stooped down to her knees. Dear Vera had fallen far: an angel with a broken halo. Even cherubs deviated from God's good graces. She curled her lips. Chopped her to bits through a single stare.

The kiss on her abdomen nearly caused her to flinch. Gentleness accompanying Vera's ministrations spoke of her long-term need to please. A reverent touch reminded her of Jianna's innocence. For a brief moment in time, she imagined the dark, curly hair of a ghost long lost. She pictured Jianna in her arms, nestled in her lap, bliss at its finest. It hurt – tapped into feelings repressed.

Much to her relief, Vera stooped lower. Knelt before the holiest of altars with her blazer shaken out, akin to a carpet rather than an article of clothing. A vestige to speak to her impending demotion.

She lived for the desecration of Vera Bennett.

Joan couldn't deny the dampness between her legs. There was a primitive tug deep down below in her burning center. She entertained the notion of Vera on her knees, servicing her, bowing down to the queen. A steady inhale quelled the simmering heat.

“No.”

Refusing to cooperate, the lioness in the den batted her paw – flicked her wrist. Sweet Magdalena could bathe her feet in tears and she still wouldn't indulge her prodigy in the relief she craved. She stopped her. Thigh muscles and hamstrings flexed. Through the mechanization of cruelty's device, Joan placed her foot down upon that foolish, fragile spine. She could crush her, kill her, break her back, but where was the fun in that?

The heel of her foot dug into her spine.

“Try again,” she rasped, the husky tenor of her voice ever present.

Vera felt the heel of Joan’s foot into her back, pressing down firmly. It was a weight she almost couldn’t bear. Joan denied her affection, her service… who she was at her core. Joan rejected everything that Vera was, yet she knew who she was inside and out.

They were two sides of the same coin. They both rejected the other.

_ Always with you. _

Except Vera had not betrayed innocent blood. It was tainted. Just like her blood was tainted during the riot.

Vera felt like she was in bondage. Neither one of them could exist without the other.  _ Can I break the chains that bind me? _

She let Joan press down on her back, and pressed her lips against her feet again and hugged her legs.  _ I cannot be freed from her. _

Vera felt this docile shift as it came naturally to her. She had always caved under the power of domineering women. She naturally gravitated towards it, because she didn’t know how to live her life without it.

She was sickened by this part of herself, but also needed it. It was hard for her to stay in control all the time. It was so much easier when someone else was in control. It’s so much easier to let go to a higher authority. Joan was that in every way, whether she be the Governor of the prison or Top Dog. 

“I’ll always be that pathetic mouse to you,” she whispered, tearing up against the sweatpants of her leg.

“From the dust I was molded into your image, and I’ve fallen from grace. So I have rebelled. I don’t know how to be who I am without you. How sick am I to want that? All the things you’ve done, do make you powerful and I’m weak.”

She gently pulled down the sweatpants and caressed her thighs, kissing them softly. She hugged her and pressed her head against the middle of her thighs.

“Allow me to give in to temptation,” she said softly.

“No,” Joan reiterated.

History was so apt to repeat itself. Again, she denied Vera's desire. The little mouse eagerly tugged down her teal to lay kisses upon her barren thighs. Dry air was sucked in between clenched teeth. In her wake, Governor Bennett left light, teasing kisses. While the gesture was to be perceived as sweet in itself, Joan recognized the assertive touch. It stirred a fresh spark of arousal in her.

“You're correct, dear Vera; you are  _ nothing  _ without me,” she crooned, hummed in the aftermath of her titular destruction.

Harder, she applied pressure to Miss Bennett's curved backbone. She let her foot linger there before recoiling from such a reverent display. Her feet remained tethered to the ground and planted firmly atop Vera's blazer. Starchy cotton scratched her heels.

“Satan took time recovering from the fall. Beg again; make it meaningful.”

So the exchange became allegorical.

A fresh tug of arousal threatened to cripple Ferguson. The temptation to pounce – to  _ strike  _ – and lunge on the acting Governor had been too great of a force. Through a slow and steady exhale, she controlled herself, refraining from sinking her teeth into such pliant, supple flesh.

But  _ oh _ , how she imagined it.

Was Vera aware of her battle? Of this ongoing war with her inner demons? Of the wetness pooling between her legs, lingering on the bridge of her prison-issued panties?

An iron hand landed on the back of her beloved Brutus' head. Nails dug into the crown. Neither screws nor inmates dared to interrupt them. She guided the younger woman's face closer to her burning, scorching center.

“Pledge your loyalty to me, Vera.”

Vera felt the hand on her head and Joan’s nails that gripped her head and hair. It wasn’t exactly rough or tender, more full of need. She faced her and reached up and slowly peeled down her underwear. She was nervous since this would be the first time she’d ever done this… and especially someone like Joan who was so intimidating. At the same time, it was Joan who made her wet just by the soft breath against her neck.

She looked at the soft wet curls and caressed her strong thighs. She never even reciprocated with Jake. She never wanted to, but this was a strong need and desire. Vera didn’t think she’d have this reaction before a woman. Fantasy was one thing, but the reality…

_ Pledge your loyalty to me. _

There was nothing quite like worshipping a woman like this. In many ways she had worshipped Joan for so long. Vera just didn’t want to think of it for what it was… but she had idolized her.  _ I still idolize her. _

Vera wrapped her hands around her ass and thighs, caressing them and squeezing. She could smell Joan. There was something so very primal about this.  _ I can’t remember when I’ve been this turned on… _

Vera parted her wet lips and kissed her there, slowly licking and caressing with her lips. The taste wasn’t what she expected. It tasted powerful but delicate, in some ways like Joan herself… when Joan allowed herself to show that side. Vera kept kissing her with her lips and tongue, and sucking on the wet lips, licking slowly up and down.

She wanted to make her come… make her fall apart. This was when Vera felt she might have some power here. She squeezed her ass again and had to refrain from sliding her hand down her knickers and touching herself at the same time. This had to be for Joan… this could not be about her.

Vera looked up at her and made eye contact, watching her as slid her tongue inside her and stroked gently. She explored Joan and felt how warm and wet she was as she closed her eyes. She kissed her again on the lips, sucking them again and licking a little more firmly. 

Vera licked around her clit, teasing her. She knew she didn’t always like direct touching there, but she wanted Joan to feel a little less detached. She licked her clit softly, circling it slowly and did this a few times. 

Her own underwear was soaking by now and she already felt like she needed to take off the damn pants. They made her so hot in here with the steam, and her already rapidly beating heart. She raked her nails down Joan’s ass and thighs.

Vera kissed her clit and then sucked it into her mouth and slid her tongue against it back and forth, moaning softly as she lost herself in the taste and feel of her.

The final rejection never came. Rather, Vera Bennett threatened to cast the ever impervious Ferguson down with her own arsenal of stones. Through touch, she conveyed her want and need. Without further complaint, her sweats pooled around her ankles. She stepped out of them along with her panties. Yet, the white undershirt remained firmly in place; it was the only remaining fragment – the last chink in her armor that she decidedly clung to.

Taut nipples strained against the fabric. The coarse texture provided a delicious burn. She refrained from eliciting a low, hoarse moan, determined to battle her base desire. A curtain of dark, wavy hair fell into her face, threaded with silver.

Like a lifeline, Vera clung to her. In many ways, she had been her salvation. She built the foundation upon which her prodigy now stood. Respect was now paid in full with Vera on her knees, servicing her. It had been a fantasy she entertained numerous times during her governorship. To have that fantasy acted upon made it difficult to exercise self-restraint.

She wanted nothing more than to have Vera underneath her – to have her begging for her cruel, tantalizing touch while she fucked her mercilessly.

In due time.

Joan recalled what once was. Looking down upon this woman on her knees, she remembered the mouse that she used to be. That need to please – to be validated – never faded despite the shift in their titular roles. She smirked; it cut like a knife.

Her scarred hand sought the back of Vera's head. She clenched her jaw. Flared her nostrils. As an automated response, her hips surged forward, almost desperate to meet the arduous flicks of Vera's tongue – of her mouth upon her cunt.

“I should deny you again,” she crooned in a wicked lilt, a razor-sharp glint to her eyes.

Instead, Joan played into her own veneration. At such a passionate touch, she moaned: it was a low, reverberating sound that filled the room, near bestial. Throbbing need won out. Her clit pulsed. Half-tempted to fuck Vera's mouth until her jaw ached, she fought off the urge. Catered to whatever control she possessed. She entwined chestnut curls around her open hand and pulled at the roots with a firm yank.

“Go harder,” she rasped. “Earn it.”

Vera heard Joan’s words about denying her and she lifted her eyebrow a little in defiance. She knew Joan wouldn’t based on her responses with how she moved her hips against her mouth. When Joan let out a moan it was hard for Vera not to moan as well and she felt an ache between her legs.

When Joan yanked her hair, she was a little surprised at the firm touch, as no one had done that to her in bed. Not even Fletch or Jake. They were surprisingly… vanilla. Vera smiled inwardly. She knew she was boring, but Joan’s pull on her hair answered a very raw need inside her.

_ Go harder. Earn it. _

Vera didn’t know if it was possible to become more wet, but those words spoken by Joan fulfilled something in her… that part of her that still so desperately wanted to please Joan, and also for Joan to tell her what to do.

Vera had faced quite a few challenges at Wentworth. Joan Ferguson was one of the biggest ones she’d come across. Vera was a different woman now. She was herself but not the same anymore. Joan had taught her how to be more confident and self assured… and if not, then Joan definitely taught her how to fake it. Vera knew how to fake it in order to survive her job, and to be able to keep doing verbal sparring with the imposing woman.

“I can do that…” She whispered.

Vera licked her clit then took her hand and rubbed her fingers between Joan’s wet lips, teasing her in the same way she did when she was alone at home. Joan felt very wet, so she slid two fingers inside her and felt them being squeezed. She waited and then leaned forward, caressing her lips against her clit as she started to stroke her fingers inside her. She moved them a little slowly at first, then with an increasing speed and harder thrusts with her hand. 

She curled her fingers and started licking and sucking on her clit harder. She wrapped her other hand around her ass and hip and pulled her tighter against her mouth as she pumped her fingers faster and harder. She curled them to touch against that rough spot inside and squeezed Joan’s ass. She so often wanted to do this, to touch and feel her, but she always pushed those thoughts away. It always felt wrong since she was confused on what she wanted, and also because she felt it was wrong to feel sexually attracted to the Devil herself. 

But Vera was tempted. She wanted to give in to temptation and lust. She wanted to be swept away and forget just for one moment that they were a governor and prisoner. However, part of this was the appeal as well… the forbidden. The danger at the possibility of being caught. Vera would have never done this and Joan never seemed the type when she was governor… but there was something very animalistic about being in a prison. What she was doing was proving that and for once she didn’t care.

Vera licked her clit faster, so eager to make Joan come… to make her feel something. She needed her to feel just like she did. Joan was so often detached but there was always something lurking beneath the surface… like a predator stalking their prey. She glanced up and saw Joan’s hair surrounding her face, the beautiful black and silver and her flushed skin. She knew she was having an effect on her. 

Vera dug her nails into Joan’s ass and squeezed, licking her clit as she made a come-hither motion with her fingers, pressing against that spot inside and stroking back and forth firmly. She watched Joan, gauging her responses and moaned softly as she licked and sucked her clit. She stopped and started stroking her faster, reaching up with her thumb to rub and circle her clit.

“I want you to come,” she said in a low voice.

Wordlessly, her mouth fell open. Refusing to close her eyes, she watched from beneath the veil of her lashes. There was no denying the wetness between her legs, the hardness of her clit. She had wanted this from the time she first saw Vera's innocence and witnessed it shift into something as crooked as herself.

Sordid desire twisted her insides and rendered her a soaking, aching mess.

"Vera-"

The snake hissed; her name called out in a gravelly tenor – fallen like a forgotten prayer. She gave into her own temptation, savoring the sensation of tongue, mouth, and fingers inside of her. It felt divine. The last remnants of her self-restraint began to slip.

"Good. That's it," she crooned, her voice adopting a husky quality.

_ Fuck. _

The profanity lingered in the back of her mind, as present as the orgasm on the verge of rushing through her body.

She inhaled and exhaled through her nose in an attempt to steady her breathing. Spreading her legs apart, she began to move in tandem with Vera's thrusts. This time, she moaned louder. Her panting collaborated with the wet noise of those fingers and lips worshiping her so wholly. Even the Devil couldn't resist the pleasures of the flesh.

Ever the definition of obedience, Vera tended to her dutifully. What followed sent a surging hot wave of wanton desire through her body. She jolted upon hearing those words from one seemingly so innocent.

_ I want you to come. _

She wasn't Mary, wasn't a lamb. She was Salome here to behead her. Joan's jaw clenched, her fingers drifting through the younger woman's hair. Her nipples ached painfully against her shirt, her inner walls luring her deeper inside. With a grunt, she thrusted her hips harder, faster, all too mesmerized by how  **beautiful** Vera looked on her knees with her mouth worshiping that rightful altar.

A more feral moan ensued. Her hair obscured her face. Coated in a slick sheen of sweat, her body shuddered while her orgasm rippled through her. Hot and sticky, she clenched around Vera over and over again, as though she wasn't willing to let go. In many ways, she wasn't. She aspired to keep her claws deep inside of her.

Her head lolled back, abysmal waves falling over her shoulders. At last, she closed her eyes. Wet her lips. Issued her approval by caressing Vera's jaw. Unlike the other touches, it was tender. A thumb traced the smooth slope of flesh.

She cared, in her own way, despite the blazing quest for retribution.

"...You've earned this, hm?" Joan asked, the cadence of her voice naught but an erotic whisper.

Euphoria was a temporary fix. Once the rapture fled from her body, she regained composure. Ferguson stood tall, shedding off the last article of clothing. With a desire for order, she folded the shirt and draped it over her arm, as nude as a Greek statue.

"Now, reap what you sow. Remove your pants.”

Vera watched Joan come completely undone. Her body shuddered and tensed against her and she felt the last remnants of her orgasm as Joan tightened around her fingers.

It was one of the most satisfying experiences she’d had in her life, both sexually and emotionally. Joan was such an impenetrable fortress that she’d only seen her vulnerability come out a few times. So when this did happen and it was caused by Vera, she felt a small victory. However, not the petty victory that Joan had accused her of not too long ago. 

Joan climaxing was nothing like what she’d experienced with a man. With men, it usually felt like it was a sense of duty. Something she felt obligated to do, and usually wanted to get it over with. What she did for Joan was similar, but it wasn’t in the way she expected. It felt different and she wanted it. She wanted her. It was a need to please that came out just like it did when Joan was the Governor. 

_ I believe in you. _

That simple phrase so long ago was enough to make Vera feel confident and worthy of praise. That was in combination right now with her own awakening sexual desire. It always felt muted before with Jake. The only time she was able to feel much with him was when she was blindfolded and she had imagined Joan touching her. That was a fantasy that she thought she’d take to her grave. Vera never thought she’d live out this fantasy at all in being with Joan. She never thought she’d touch her in this way.

Vera wondered if it was like this with all women, or just Joan Ferguson. She was breathless after that and Joan had almost used her mouth as she rocked her hips. It made her feel wanted and desired.

When Joan’s thumb caressed her jaw, she knew that she had pleased the woman. She’d earned it just like she demanded of her. Joan had once told her she was impressed with her work ethic… and Vera knew deep down that she would not be disappointed with her if she worked hard to give Joan what she wanted. Out of all the people in her life, Joan was the one she most wanted to gain her approval. Except now it had become raw need and sexual pleasure.

Joan was like the Devil, but her alluring and dangerous nature also made her like a Siren. Vera was halted in place by the statuesque form of her beauty. She’d seen Joan naked before, but she was detached and concerned for her welfare. Here she was seeing her with new eyes. Vera saw her as the tall, powerful, and sexual woman she was… even if that sexuality was controlled and suppressed.

Joan was beautiful and feminine, but powerful in body and words. She already looked detached. There was something in her eyes that gave her away, something possessive in her stare. Other than the wetness between Joan’s legs, there was the hardness of her nipples. Vera was incredibly aroused by this, because she felt her breathing quicken even more.

_ Now, reap what you sow. Remove your pants. _

Such a command, a Siren’s call… one that Vera would not ignore. Joan would give her what she was afraid to ask for. She slowly unzipped her pants and stepped out of them. She looked at Joan’s folded shirt on her arm and she copied her and folded her pants neatly and set them down near the steam press. Only her underwear remained, but unlike how she took them off Joan, Vera would be the one to remove them. 

Vera knew she was going fully give herself to Joan… and she’d accept all the positives and negatives that went along with this. 

She slipped her thumbs underneath the band of her underwear and removed them, letting them slowly fall down her legs and step out of them. She placed them on top of her pants. Vera was now the one who was fully exposed and she ignored the need to cover herself, but the heat that crept up into her ears and her cheeks told a different story. Despite the blush, this was the confidence that she tried to show, even if she didn’t feel it.

“I’m yours.”

While she unraveled from Vera's eager ministrations, she indulged in a fantasy: fucking her mouth harder, rougher, brutally tugging on her hair to later drink in her tears. She regarded the kneeling woman with half-lidded eyes, her thoughts far from pure. Satisfied, she sighed.

In a neatly folded pile, Ferguson set aside her undershirt. On the steam press, it laid. Her jaw shifted as she stood in all her nude glory, raising her head to look Vera up and down. The voyeuristic stare lingered on the her panties.

White. Of course.

She shrugged a bit, the titanic shift easing up the soreness of her muscles. While she hadn't the opportunity to be up to par with her fencing skills, the shoulder press in the exercise yard worked wonders.

The wolf in the room sized up the lamb. Wet her lips. Miss Bennett possessed a fit body herself, petite and slender, with a softness to her despite her sinewy build. The uniform hid so much, but the pants complimented her shape. It made Joan want to devour her.

She wondered how sweet Vera would taste; perhaps she would indulge in such a debased thing, but she'd already relinquished a great deal of control. Now, it was a matter of taking it back.

"Vera, you've always belonged to me."

An apex predator crept closer. She circled Vera just once. Behind her, she lingered - let her sinister presence be known. A palm cradled her jaw, stroked her neck, and slid lower to cup her breasts. Her mouth hovered near Governor Bennett's cherry red ear. With her breathing regulated, she issued a low, salacious pant. She teased through a well orchestrated touch. Long, thick fingers ventured lower to trace her curves, her abdomen, and to give her ass a generous squeeze. She sunk her claws in - left angry, little marks.

"Mine," she stated, heady breath ghosting over her bare flesh.

Call it possession; she sunk her teeth into her neck like dear Carmilla.

“You’ve imagined this, haven’t you? All by your lonesome self, fantasizing about me  _ fucking  _ you from behind.”

The softness of her stomach and the swell of her breasts pressed into Vera's back. She was Death, ever present, and served as a reminder of the insidious darkness she gave into.

"On your hands and knees," she commanded. 

Who was the Governor here, really?

Vera watched Joan circle her and she tried not to shiver as she did this. There was a deadly grace in how she walked and circled her, as if she was sizing her up. Vera wished she were taller so she wouldn’t feel so… so inferior.

But wasn’t that the appeal? Wasn’t the appeal that Joan was taller than her and had a superior attitude? Why did she both hate and love their interactions?  _ She keeps me on my toes. Our verbal game of chess is the only thing that keeps me going these days. _ Was it possible to be aroused by words alone? Even the insulting barbs sent her way were like some toxic form of foreplay.

_ Vera, you’ve always belonged to me. _

And just like that, Vera Bennett became the property of Wentworth. Joan may not be the Governor anymore, but she was in every way in how she carried herself. This was especially apparent now with her new position as Top Dog, and Vera would forever remain in her shadow. She was a pitiful version of what used to be. Joan was more ruthless than before. There was no hiding her true nature.

So, when Joan stood behind her, she felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck again, and goosebumps erupted on her arms despite the heat in the room. She felt her nipples harden and her cunt ache from how wet she was getting. 

Vera shivered and swallowed back a moan as Joan caressed down her body and squeezed her ass, wincing a little as her nails dug in. There was an odd pleasure with this pain and she was surprised at how well she was responding to it.

The bite to her neck was like a fire that spread throughout her body and she moaned softly as Joan said, “Mine.”

The Devil whispered temptations and fantasies in her ear. Words and scenarios that yes, she had fantasized about. Hearing Joan speak them added an extra element that made her feel like she was going to buckle in her arms. Words alone could make her wet. Joan’s body pressed closer to hers and she had to stop herself from reaching back and touching her, but she couldn’t help the slight grind of her ass as she pressed against her. 

At Joan’s order, Vera looked down and there was a small part of her that was glad she didn’t have to stand anymore because her legs were becoming wobbly, but then the other part was shivering from desire. She moved slowly onto her hands and knees onto her own jacket.

She turned her head to the side, looking at Joan from the corner of her eye, daring to look at the woman who was radiating a powerful and seductive energy. 

Vera felt like a fish that was being lured by a hook, but she didn’t want to let go. She’d let herself get reeled in, even if it meant she’d be gutted. She’d take the risk. 

Vera made eye contact with Joan. “This is how you’ve always wanted me. Right under you just like I always was. The little mouse of a Deputy Governor. I’m not wearing those shiny little crowns right now. I’m stripped of them, just like you want me to be. I’m ready…  _ Governor. _ ”

Duty brought the once meek and modest woman down to the ground. Remaining monumental, Ferguson held her head high. Therein lied an archetypal arrogance worthy of aristocrats. Her abysmal gaze devoured Vera's nude form. This subservience pleased her.

Much like her beloved mouse, she gave in. Joan knelt down behind her. A single talon ran along that foolish, fragile spine. She leaned forward, threatened to consume her with her presence alone. Full breasts brushed against her back.

"That's it; don't deny your nature."

She fought off the growing need to lap at her altar and drink from the well. Instead, she raked her fingers through her hair. Curvaceous hips rubbed against her ass. There, her wetness was palpable, her desire not yet snuffed out.

"You're my little whore, hm? So eager to please. So desperate. So weT," she whispered into a flushed ear and snapped her wolfish teeth.

"Even now, you're my trusted Deputy. Your loyalty binds you to me."

The admission fueled that throbbing ache between her legs. She cupped her down below, digging the heel of her palm in without warning. Hot, heady breath tickled bare flesh.

"It's time to collect your reward, Vera."

Now came the sonorous melody to lure her disciple in.

One, long finger teased her lower lips, running across her slit. Her scarred hand cradled Vera's jawline. She moved in to taste her pulse with a blessed kiss.

“Lay on your back. I want to see you.”

Joan played the role of puppeteer and toyed with the strings of fate. Kissed her harder. Lapped at the juncture between neck and shoulder.

Vera trembled slightly as Joan moved behind her. She was both nervous and waiting in anticipation. This was such a vulnerable position and trusting someone like Joan took a lot for her to do. So much trust had been lost between them so this moment was the ultimate test in that.

She felt Joan’s fingernail slide down her spine. It wasn’t too hard or too light… but it felt very much like a claw that slowly raked against her skin. Jake never did this. It was possessive and dominant. She closed her eyes when she felt Joan’s soft and full breasts against her back, the soft and hard nipples sliding across her skin. 

She wanted to bury her face between her full breasts and take them into her mouth so badly. She wanted to taste the salty sweat on her skin again and lick her heart, trying to get inside Joan’s head and behind those walls she kept up.

Vera moaned softly when she felt Joan’s smooth skin pressing against hers, and blushed thinking of such a position she was in. Her nature?  _ You’re right. I’m not denying it now. I’m giving into it… giving into you. _

Vera was so wet when she felt Joan rubbing against her ass and she couldn’t fight the urge to grind back against her. 

She breathed deeply as Joan said she was her “little whore.” Such a name falling from anyone else’s lips she’d be hurt and insulted. There was a part of her that felt such humiliation at this but it was mixed with a deep desire and an odd need to accept this from Joan. 

She was desperate and eager to please and that was a lot of the reason why she was so wet, not just because of what Joan was doing to her. 

Joan touched her and she shivered at her touch, blushing at her increasing wetness. She moaned as she felt Joan’s heel against her wet lips, and tried desperately to grind back against it, but was careful not to move too much so she could savor the feeling. She wanted this to last as long as possible for she didn’t know when she’d get this opportunity again, if at all.

Vera felt her touching her jawline in a gentle hold and caress, the kiss of her lips. She closed her eyes and sighed as those lips trailed over her neck.

She thought back to what Joan said about loyalty and it took everything within her to accept that these were the roles they would always continue to play, and she desperately needed their dynamic to stay this way. She couldn’t explain why. She needed to prove to Joan that she still could be that trusted and loyal Deputy she once was… that she never betrayed her. She felt tears at the corners of her eyes at the thought of this, and she tried to blink them back.

_ Lay on your back. I want to see you. _

Vera bit her lip as she heard this and knew she was trying to hold back tears, because she was going to have to face Joan, and face her in such a way that opened herself up for everything the woman wanted to do to her. She would gladly take it, even if it somehow ruined her in the long run. Vera couldn’t get away from her, so she’d do what only she knew how: accept their relationship for what it was. 

She closed her eyes at the harder and more passionate kisses Joan left against her neck and shoulder. She cursed herself at the tear that slipped down her cheek. Joan would have to see this reaction and she hesitated at first, but Joan had slapped her in the past, humiliated her… what more was there to lose now? She’d seen every part of Vera and for this trust to work… to show that she was loyal to her, she’d have to face her like she demanded. 

Vera slowly lifted and turned over onto her back, and she didn’t look at Joan first, her eyes cast down briefly, before she lifted them to look into Joan’s dark eyes. She spread her legs in an open display of want and desire. She still felt the tear that was hanging at the end of her jaw, showing the evidence of her tears. She kept eye contact with Joan, reaching up to caress her breast.

“Do you see me?” She asked softly, struggling to keep her lips from trembling.

The vestige of tragedy slithered down her disciple's face. Stubbornly, the tear clung to her jawline. Mystified, hovering above in a near sinister fashion, she watched this woman's world come asunder.  


A slight tilt of her head indicated her confusion. Sweet Magdalene tears beaded at the corner of doe's eyes and rolled down her cheek. Her sculpted brow furrowed which was accompanied by a mere twitch of her lips. She couldn't fathom the emotional complexity of her former protege – this old flame that haunted and taunted her. _Why are you crying?_  


It brought back the emotional deficit that Westfall (re: Westnull) shed some light on. At the memory, Joan twitched. She could recall her father's voice, gravelly with a hint of rage, in the corners of her mind: _Why do you insist on inflicting hurt, Joan?_  


_–I don't know, Dad._  


That had been his primary reason for advocating fencing as an outlet. She clenched her jaw. Faltered between the need for control and the need to ruin, but the softer Joan – the young girl who fed scraps to a stray – was still there buried beneath the layers of Siberia's frost.  


“Oh, Vera.”  


In a heady breath, she sung her name. Her poor deputy cared too much. They both did. The betrayal cut her deeply and turned her heart to rot. Leaning forward, she captured the tear. Lapped at the human wreckage. Tasted the salt, the tragedy, the heart that loved without abandon.  


_Even now, you still choose to love._  


It made her a formidable enemy.  


One kiss, one taste was all she needed. She brought her mouth down to hers – to the one who ruined her in this mutual exchange. With great finesse, she lifted Vera's legs and brought them around her waist. Her breasts brushed against the mousy brunette's, perky nipples making direct contact with bare flesh.  


Maintaining eye contact, she promised a descent into madness.   


“I see you.”

Vera braced herself for the attack, but it never came. She expected Joan to mock her. And instead the woman tilted her head and creased her brows in confusion and she stared in wonder at Joan who seemed to really want to understand why she was crying. It was subtle but Vera knew that simple head tilt was enough.

She watched the quick and subtle display of emotions cross Joan’s face. She often only showed a smug and superior attitude, but this was different and it made Vera’s breath hitch in response.

Her breathy response in saying her name made Vera tear up more. She couldn’t help the tear that slipped from her other eye as Joan caught it and licked the first tears that were shed. She took a shuddering breath as Joan did this and silently let her drink in her tears.   


She felt Joan’s lips descend upon hers and this kiss was different than the one before. She sucked her lower lip and slid her tongue over hers and sighed softly, feeling Joan wrap her legs around her waist and the warmth of her breasts touching. She’d never felt this before and it answered a deep need within her.

Vera wrapped her arms around Joan’s back and caressed her skin, her hands reaching up to stroke through the thick mane of hair. 

She moaned softly as their bodies fit together like the final piece of a puzzle. She lifted her hips against Joan as she kept her legs around her full hips. She wasn’t used to her legs being spread this wide, but she needed it and wanted it. 

_ I see you. _   


Three words that Joan said that meant more to her than when Jake said he loved her. All she wanted was Joan’s approval and praise; her understanding. She swallowed against the lump in her throat and her fingers ran through Joan’s hair. She slid her hands down over her cheeks and neck and down to her collar bones and shoulders. 

She lifted her head and kissed Joan again and her hands slowly caressed her back, raking her nails down to her ass and squeezed. She slowly undulated her hips getting used to this feeling of Joan between her legs. 

Vera nibbled Joan’s bottom lip and bent her knees and she’d feel sore from this, but she would rather take the full and soft curves of Joan’s hips than the boney and narrow hips of Jake.

She kissed and sucked Joan’s neck and wrapped her arms tightly around her in an attempt to pull Joan into her body. She didn’t want to let Joan go. 

Vera sucked her neck and clawed at her back, her tears leaking from her eyes again. She had to let herself go so she kissed Joan’s neck and rocked against her a little faster, but she kept her face hidden against her neck to continue to hide her tears. She had just shown this to Joan, but too much made her feel vulnerable.

Vera wanted to be forgiven. Wasn’t Judas forgiven for his sin? All she did was what Joan taught her to do. She reached up and ran her fingers through Joan’s hair again.

She let go of the last bit of control she had and gently bit Joan’s neck and whispered, “Why have you forsaken me?”

Behold the destroyer of worlds who feasted upon a quivering rabbit heart. Joan Ferguson aimed to scare the shit out of everyone, her deputy included. This was a woman who ruled over a professional sphere and reduced men to tears. Intimidation simply existed within the fabric of her making. It was a part of her. No denying it.

Tongue met tongue. She licked at Vera's sweet lips. The kisses bordered on the cusp of the obscene. Through a single touch, she vowed to consume the little lamb. To devour her whole so she could reside within the belly of the beast.

Wet again, her clit ached for some friction. She rolled her hips, the momentum akin to the ocean's coarse waves. It was a lustful dance executed atop a wrinkled blazer with those maimed crowns.

The question warranted too complicated of an answer. Joan couldn't afford a proper answer, not in the here and now, with so much wreckage between them.

"Ah, ah." She silenced her, dragging a nail down that trembling, bottom lip. "You can't begin to unpack this now."

Collateral damage took its toll. Joan cupped her breasts. Felt the weight to them. Flicked her nipples with her fingertips. She was everywhere like a phantom desperate to haunt. To inflict damage.

Jet black hair, strung with silver, fell into Vera's face. Consider it the curtain fall. At the arduous attention, she grunted. Flared her nostrils. In this charged game of emotional warfare, she refused to let poor, slighted Vera win.

The Snake slithered down. Her blood red mouth inched in between the valley of her breasts. She released her titanic grip on her former deputy's hips. A deft tongue trailed across the expanse of her stomach. Akin to a panther, she shifted. All her lethal attributes remained intact. Kisses littered her inner thighs. She tasted the steady thrum of blood coursing through her veins.

“You reap what you sow, Vera.”

The elegant slope of her nose dipped lower. She breathed in her scent. Lapped at her altar. Nails brushed past the gentle curls. A knuckle ran over her slit. How easy it was to lose oneself to desire behind the bars.

Vera had a moment when she forgot who she was dealing with. This was Joan Ferguson; the same woman who just cut out Gambaro’s tongue and gave it to her as a birthday gift.

She knew Joan felt something, but it was impossible again to make Joan see or feel beyond any more of this, because Joan was simply not that type of woman. 

Joan’s nail dragged down her lips with her slight reprimand and it jolted Vera into the present. She couldn’t go back, no matter how hard she tried. There was too much baggage between them. She felt abandoned by Joan in some way because of her part in things, but Vera also knew that Joan equally inflicted her own damage and continued to do so. 

_ So why am I so fucking wet? More wet than I’ve ever been. Well, I was always attracted to the toxic ones. I crave to repeat the cycle. What is wrong with me? _

Her inner monologue was interrupted as Joan cupped her breasts and Vera felt her nipples tighten at the attention Joan was giving them. Emotional heartache turned into a cold reminder of where she was and who they were, and then to the desire and lustful, conflicted feelings she had. 

_ To hell with what’s wrong with me. I don’t care anymore. If I’m to fall, I’ll bring her down with me, but this will be the last time I try to appeal to her emotional side.  _

She felt Joan’s hair fall into her face, the soft weight of it and she smelled the clean smell and her body between her legs was too much for her to keep thinking. Her need to be taken, to feel Joan. She wanted Joan to ruin her. It answered that self destructive part of her that she kept coming back to.  _ I am sick, just like you.  _

Joan wanted to destroy her, and Vera would let her in this moment of temporary sexual need. There was still that nagging aim to please and she reached up and pulled a little at Joan’s hair as she kissed her and bit her lip, her tongue rolling over hers to match the passionate kisses Joan gave her.

She was giving in to Joan because she needed it and wanted it. She needed these roles they played to exist, even for a short time. It made her forget where she began and where Joan left off.

_ I want you. I need your toxicity, your disorder. I need everything you are… because I am all of these things, just another version of you, but you’ll never know that.  _

Vera shivered as she felt Joan’s body and lips move down. Lips and tongue licking between her breasts and her stomach. She couldn’t think anymore and her body responded for her.

She felt the kisses on her thighs and she let them fall open in another display of submission. She knew who was in control here. It was never her to begin with. It angered and aroused her at the same time.

Vera arched her back a little as she felt Joan’s nose against her wet lips. She panted. This long game they were playing made her so wet now that she thought she was going to come too fast.

She reached down and placed her hand on Joan’s head and stroked her hair. She felt her knuckles and tongue lap and lick at her wetness. She looked down briefly as she watched Joan. She became even more wet seeing the dark eyes and black head of hair between her legs. Her lips and tongue touching her in ways that she usually avoided with Jake.

She lifted her hips and began to rock them slowly, circling them as Joan touched and tasted her. Vera ran her fingers through her hair and her body trembled and she started to roll her hips a little faster, her need for Joan taking over.

Vera moaned softly and shivered. She didn’t care anymore how desperate and pathetic she sounded.

“I submit; you win. I’ll take what I deserve… reap the consequences.”

She gently tugged on Joan’s hair. “Fuck me.”

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

The patron saint of Vera's demise issued that deliberate taunt. Joan fought to win. As prisoner – as Top Dog – she celebrated the victory, no matter how monumental or minute it may have been. Not everything warranted self-reflection.

Vera tasted like Heaven. Like betrayal. Like dying.

Joan muffled her pining moan with a growl. In a growing urgency, she ran the bed of her tongue along her slit. Avoiding the heart of the matter, she relied on wicked deed alone.

Nimble fingers entrapped the webbing known as her hair. Wentworth's residential Top Dog halted. Dug her talons deeper into the Governor's thighs, as if she threatened to rip her apart.

“Enjoy this,” Joan rasped.

It was better than compartmentalizing her misdeeds.

An emotional barricade further fueled the rift between them. Reason hid behind action. She drank the sweet nectar that collected there. Keen strokes of her tongue worked the instrument that was Vera's body. She buried her tongue deep. Dispersed an archaic language lost to most through hums and muffled moans.

This distracted from the tears she knew – from the tears she saw flow.

_ I win. _

A liar's mouth entrapped that swollen clit. She sucked and she sucked, her head bowed low to focus on the task at hand. The Devil couldn't possibly suck the poison out.

Releasing her cruel hold, she regarded Vera with half-lidded eyes. She corrupted this cherub. She should have reveled in the fact. Instead, Joan chose to focus on another matter entirely.

“You'll come when I say you can. Is that clear?”

Without warning, one finger slid inside her. A 'come hither' gesture formed. She dipped her head to continue lavishing her clit with attention. This so-called deficit hid behind lust's false veneer.

The Devil's machinations could blindside anyone.

Vera took in Joan’s response and bit her lip.

Her body quivered with every press of Joan’s tongue against her slit and clit. She raised up on her elbows and stroked her hair and cheek briefly, watching her between her legs. She was mesmerized by the sight of Joan touching and tasting her and she blushed.

She felt Joan dig her nails and fingertips into her thighs and say, “Enjoy this.”

Vera fell back down and bent her knees, moaning softly. A warmth spread throughout her body, centering between her legs as Joan’s tongue licked like flames against her swollen flesh. She squeezed her tongue and rocked her hips. Soft sighs and pants left her lips as she felt Joan invade the most intimate part of herself.

Vera welcomed the soft tongue, milking it with her wet inner walls as she closed her eyes and felt herself floating on a sea of sensation.

When Joan sucked on her clit, it created a burning within her. It was a mix of pleasure and a small amount of pain, because she was so sensitive. Joan was relentless. Her legs trembled as she jerked her hips against her mouth.

Joan kept sucking on her clit. Vera whimpered because it was becoming too much. No one had paid that much attention to this part of her. A thin sheen of sweat was covering her body from the heat in the room and the heat of Joan’s lips and tongue.

Gone were the tears from before, the melancholy ache in her heart over what once was or could have been. It was let go with the removal of a hand over dinner and the slap across a cheek with the growled words promising her annihilation. 

Joan promised her this, and Vera knew it was coming in more ways than one. She panted and reached down and grabbed Joan’s hand and dug her fingernails into her skin. She needed something to hold onto as she experienced this fall into pleasure.

_ She’s going to be the death of me. _

When Joan stopped, she breathed and opened her eyes. Joan stared at her with a lustful and predatory look. She knew Joan would seek to devour her and she needed this so badly, but there was a small part of her that was also afraid. 

The Devil kept a tight grip on her physically and emotionally. She wound her way inside and Vera would forever have the look of Joan’s face as she came, of her expression looking at her now, burned into her mind. Joan had left her mark on her forever. She was truly damned, but this was such a heavenly way to go if she was.

Joan was both the angel of light and the beast within and Vera tapped into this darkness. Her light was slowly being snuffed out, and all that remained was the dark and penetrating stare of Joan as she stared down at her. She didn’t need to find her way out of the darkness… she wanted to stay here for now.

_ You'll come when I say you can. Is that clear? _

She felt a flood of liquid heat at those words. Her breath hitched as Joan slid a finger inside her and crooked her finger in a come-hither motion. Vera squeezed around Joan’s finger and moaned, her body trembling as Joan continued to lick her clit.

“I-I don’t know h-how much more. I’m sensitive. Not even…” She paused and licked her lips and she heard the whispering from deep within her that wanted this, and it had one soft and velvet voice that was overlapping as if she was right inside her head.

_ Vera, you've always belonged to me. _

_ That's it; don't deny your nature. _

_ Your loyalty binds you to me. _

_ I see you. _

_ Reap what you sow. _

_ Where does your loyalty lie? _

_ I will annihilate you. _

_ Reap what you sow. _

_ Don’t deny your nature. _

_ I see you. _

_ I see you. _

Vera looked at Joan and entered the abyss.  _ I see you too, and you can’t deny your nature, and neither can I. _

“Yes, Joan… I won’t c-come until y-you give permission. I surrender to you.”

Desire won out. The animal within begged for a taste. Greedily, Joan lapped her up. She tasted sweeter than honey. A taste that would linger on the tip of Joan's tongue for hours; the memory would last for much longer.

“You want to touch me, do you?”

With her shoulders hunched, she resembled a panther. Silver and black locks brushed against her cheek. It was lewd, borderline obscene, in the way she brought her tongue over her wet slit. Momentarily, her wickedness subsided.

Vera grasped for her burnt hand. There, the skin didn't quite feel like her own, all crinkled and red. It was similar to a beam of light shining upon the fallen. Her black, black heart twisted at the sensation. She remembered the photos, the slap, the hand at dinner, the betrayal that cut like a knife and was far more destructive than any man's meddling. Joan swallowed; there existed a glimpse of what once was. Hesitating, she reciprocated the touch. The Devil's hand held her deputy's as though it were a lifeline. She brought their fingers together.

Joan couldn't fathom how Vera still pined for the fire after brazenly facing the heat. She tilted her head up, ever the observant one, a voyeur even in a participatory act.

The harsh nips at the inside of her toned thighs decreased in intensity. Kisses were placed there, but nothing could really take away the pain of heartbreak. Twisting her good wrist, she added another finger and curled them deep inside.

At last, the angel of small death granted mercy.

“Unravel. Let go for me,” she rasped.

Yes, Vera did want to touch her. She wanted to touch her more than she did before, but this was what Joan allowed and she had to follow her where she wanted her to go. 

Vera trembled as Joan licked and lapped at her and her legs shook with desire. She’d never responded like this before and it somewhat frightened her at how aroused she was becoming with Joan. It was better than any fantasy she imagined, and her body flushed with excitement and the heat of Joan’s tongue and mouth.

Vera’s body was so hot from Joan’s touch and the inside of the room. She gyrated her hips to meet Joan’s tongue and fingers. She shivered as she felt Joan’s hair caress her skin. The feminine touches felt strange and so very right at the same time.

Vera squeezed Joan’s hand, feeling the rough touches of the burn. She sighed softly as Joan held her hand as their fingers came together. She held onto Joan in such a way that reminded her of their earlier interactions. When she relied on Joan and looked up to her. When Joan’s guidance, professionalism, praise, and friendship meant everything to her. 

Her mind flashed back again to the disaster of a dinner where Joan held her hand and pulled away, and this moment was a temporary relief and Vera could almost forget that dinner happened. She could almost forget what happened between them just for a brief moment today as she rocked her hips and trembled under Joan.

She moaned softly and opened her eyes and saw Joan gazing at her. She held the look to show she needed and wanted this. Shades of obsidian met sapphire, darkened by desire. She allowed a brief moment of vulnerability before her expression switched to pleasure and she closed her eyes again.

Vera felt the nips and bites stop to soft kisses along her thighs and caressed her thumb across Joan’s hand, trying to show in some way how she understood. It was a small touch and she moaned when she felt two fingers inside her now. Joan’s long fingers curling inside her and she felt them stroking deep inside. They stroked and curled in ways that she’d never felt with anyone, not even when she touched herself.

_ Unravel. Let go for me. _

She felt the butterflies in her stomach at these words, as if she fell into liquid heat and her stomach muscles tensed and contracted. Her hips jerked and she squeezed tightly around her fingers.

“Joan,” she breathed and whimpered.

Her entire body shook with her orgasm and she arched her back sharply. She squeezed her hand around Joan’s and dug her nails into her palm hard. She milked Joan’s fingers inside and panted as her back hit the floor. 

Vera felt light headed and limp, still trembling slightly as she breathed heavily, releasing the tight grip she had on Joan’s hand. Her fingernails a gentle caress over Joan’s palm and wrist.

She promised a little death and the codeine scene. When Vera climaxed, it was the greatest defeat that she dared bear witness to. Lasciviously, she wet her swollen lips. Ran her tongue along her slit one last time, savoring the sensation of velvet walls luring her fingers deeper inside. The serpent shifted, slithered up to meet her disciple face to face.  


Hungrily, she captured her mouth with her own. An all-consuming kiss assumed its course. Hand in hand, she allowed for Governor Bennett to hold on. Fingers interlaced. Her other palm continued to rub against the holiest of altars, digging into her clit. The beast within compelled her to resume this harsh, savage fuck.  


Their co-dependence warped whatever they shared. Joan's breath came out in ragged, hoarse pants. Therein existed a menacing glint in her gaze, hiding whatever concern she felt for this underling.  


Teeth caught her earlobe. Her body blanketed the petite form of her deputy. Full hips pinned narrower ones.  


“Try as you might, you'll never be rid of me. I'll always be here to haunt you.”  


A cruel tongue lapped at the shell of her ear, promising temptation and whatever delights the Devil had in store. Refusing to relent, she pumped her fingers in deeper – faster.  


“Vera...”   


Her voice resembled a curl of smoke, all-consuming and just as toxic.

Vera panted, trying to catch her breath and twitched as Joan licked along her slit. She was sensitive now and she wasn’t used to how this felt… it was never like this with Jake. She squeezed Joan’s fingers, trying to keep her inside.

She looked into Joan’s eyes as she saw her move up, hovering above her. Joan kissed her passionately and Vera didn’t have time to catch her breath. Joan was demanding in how she kissed her. Vera tasted herself on her lips and moaned into her mouth when she felt Joan’s hand rubbing her. She squeezed her thighs around her hand as she lifted her hips. Vera bit her lips, licking them as she reached up and gripped her hair. 

Vera squeezed Joan’s hand as their fingers were interlaced and then gently let go and wrapped her arms around her back tightly. She felt Joan’s hips and body covering her own. It was hot, possessive, and oppressive all at once.

She opened her legs a little wider as Joan pressed on her clit and she whimpered and shivered as Joan bit her earlobe and licked the shell of her ear. Vera moaned as Joan began to thrust and pump her fingers faster and harder. 

She rocked her hips and dug her nails into her back, scratching harder as she met her thrusts. She needed to feel something, even if it was rough and intense. It was always this way with Joan. There was a side deep within her that welcomed it. She didn’t care if she lost in this; she just needed one last moment to feel something even if it meant she was being swallowed up.

Joan, the Devil in the flesh, had power over her and like a snake she coiled herself around Vera. She was entangled… ensnared with Joan professionally, psychologically, and emotionally. Every part of her was as Joan said… she’d never get rid of her. She’d continue to haunt her. Vera let her in and couldn’t close the door, and no amount of exorcisms would make Joan leave her. It was toxic and her lungs were filled with it. She breathed in and could smell Joan and the sweet poison that stabbed into her heart and mind, a toxin that was taking over the rest of her.

“You don’t just haunt me… you possess me,” she whispered and kissed her hard.

Vera Bennett was her treasure, purest of them all. She coveted her disciple. Pressed her body against hers, as if she were a dragon protecting her hoard of glittering gold. She silenced her song. Their tongues mingled and she savored the taste, finer than any Shiraz she sampled.

No fists were needed; the damage had already been done. Manicured nails scraped at her back, attempting to carve away flesh in a backwards attempt to pull out her withered heart – the thing she swore off from the start. Joan liked to think that part of her died with Jianna.

Maybe she was wrong.

A growl reverberated against her tortured ribcage. She dug her teeth into her Judas' lip, offered no comfort, and acted upon the greed of a thousand kings. Joan fucked her on hallowed ground. The scratches to mark her back will be something to admire.

Long, thick fingers parted. She rotated her wrist, the heel of her palm rubbing against her clit with a newly gained friction. In a circular motion, she continued to thrust. She drove closer to her burning center by moving her hips to add to the tempo.

She wore the mouse well.

“You think you've ruined me,” Ferguson murmured after breaking the kiss, mouth tracing the juncture between shoulder and neck. _ I'll rise above.  _ “You starve and near  _ exhaust _ me.”

Satisfaction procured a warmth in her gut. The flames roared hire, mingling with the steam that began to vanish.

“I need you,” she admitted hoarsely, buried knuckles deep in a woman scorned. She couldn't correct the truth of the matter. “Now, come undone.”

Desire made a fool of anyone, but not Joan.

Never Joan.

Vera spread her legs around Joan’s waist. She rocked her hips against her fingers as she fucked her. Joan’s mouth was soft and hard at once, tongues and teeth that felt like she was being devoured.

Joan was a predator that had caught her prey and Vera let her. She responded to the sweet decay that was between them. It lifted her up and brought her down, falling farther into her that Vera wanted to meld their bodies together.

The scratches against her back matched the pain of Joan biting her lip and she licked her lips and moaned into her mouth.

She was being emotionally and almost physically suffocated. She lost her breath, her mind… her heart. Vera kissed Joan back and her chest heaved with the need to break free of this power. Except she felt a protective weight over her and it conflicted with her feelings for the woman. Joan was the savior and the destroyer.

Joan was possessing her and covering her with her entire body, and it was almost involuntary to how she responded to her. Her body trembled and shivered, rocking her hips faster and harder as Joan pumped her fingers. 

Vera was pulled to her and it was the words of starving and exhaustion and this was exactly how Vera felt. Her mind and body were strained and completely drained as Joan sunk her claws and teeth into her flesh. 

_ Let me be devoured. _

Vera panted and looked into her eyes as she said she needed her… wanted her to come undone. Coming undone was all Vera had done and would continue to do. She was ruined by Joan with the first dinner, the first praise, the jab of the needle, the hand that covered hers, the slap to her face. Joan’s look of disgust and hate mixed with need and desire… with her tainted heart.

Vera had come undone since that fateful meeting so long ago.

_ Stick with me and we’ll achieve great things together. _

“I’m stuck with you… always with you. You have everything. I need  _ you _ .”

Vera met Joan’s powerful and hard thrusts and her body tensed and shook in her climax. She cried out and bit Joan’s neck, panting as she gave in to Joan’s need and her own. 

Vera trembled and relaxed slowly, kissing the hollow of her throat.

The wolf devoured the lamb and that was the end.

Maintaining eye contact, black met blue in an imitation motley of bruising. Nostrils flared, a pursed mouth now fell open. She admired the work of art that enfolded beneath her, before her,  _ for _ her.

“CorrecT, Vera. We'll always have each other,” she snipped. Words rivaled a bullet. She aimed for the heart.

A deep moan escaped her. Consumed her when the sharp sting of teeth met her throat, only to be replaced by a gentle kiss. Despite all the petty hurt and the wicked games, Vera clung to her like a personal Jesus. It made her want to laugh, it made her  **sick** .

Wetness clamped around her curled fingers. Attempted to suck her deeper inside. Together, they took the plunge down the rabbit hole. Panting, Ferguson withdrew her hand from between her spread legs. She brought her fingers to her lips. Savored the scent. Lapped at the arousal coating them. She wanted to commit the sweetly musky taste to memory.

Her unraveling was a beautiful sight to behold.

Vera was so fucking beautiful in her rage and tenderness.

In a rare gesture of affection, Joan tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She cupped her jawline riddled with the salt of their endeavor and the ghost of Magdalene tears.

Whatever had been won was now lost.

Vera blinked slowly and shivered under Joan, feeling her long fingers leave her body and she felt oddly empty. Joan had been inside her and for not the first time, Vera knew what it meant to wish for what once was.

Her eyes widened as Joan licked her fingers and her lips parted, feeling a new flood of wetness between her legs. It was not something she thought she’d ever see Joan do and she blushed. Her entire body flushed with a heat of desire again and shy embarrassment. 

Joan’s lips and tongue tasting herself on her fingers would be something she’d take with her later when she was alone in her bed. Jake was never that bold or erotic.

She felt Joan’s hand stroke her hair behind her ear and she sighed softly at the touch as she cupped her jaw. 

Vera felt like crying again in this moment of vulnerability in postcoital bliss, but she swallowed and held it in. Joan’s affection was something she wanted so desperately and this small moment meant a great deal. 

Vera was quiet and breathed softly as she looked into Joan’s eyes. There was an odd feeling of exposure again. She felt hot and sweaty lying under her. She breathed out shakily.

She knew this was ending soon and she grit her teeth a bit. She reached up and stroked Joan’s hair and slid a finger from her temple to her jaw. 

“You got what you wanted. This is the final piece you’ve taken from me. Enjoy it.”

Now that darker desires had been fulfilled, humanity bubbles up to the surface. Through a gaze as sharp as knives, Joan noted Vera's glassy-eyed stare. Similar to a porcelain doll, they held a glimmer of synthetic tears. Her lower jaw shifted, twitched.

Coated in sweat that began to cool, she shifted her curvaceous build to prop herself up on her elbow. Fire fanned across the coals that formed her stomach. Akin to a house cat, satisfaction made her purr. At least, the noise could be disputed as such.

Her scarred thumb dug into the underside of Vera's chin. With hooded eyes, she surveyed the bitter end.

_ You got what you wanted. _

Well, it didn't feel that way.

The fondness she expressed moments earlier disappeared entirely. Thin lips flat-lined. A lump formed in her throat. A little death was taken along with a petty victory. She choked on this, unable to apologize, made a victim of her pride.

“As did you,” she countered in time to slither away.

She built herself up again, walls and marble fortitude. Joan Ferguson rose to her impressive height, leaving the fallen sprawled across her crumpled blazer with those pretty crowns. Her hand fell to her throat that ached for no particular reason.

“Consider this my final gift to you.”

_ My love _ went unspoken like ships in the night.

Court was to be held in session today.

**Author's Note:**

> oceansinmychest: We hope that you enjoy this as much as we had a blast writing it.
> 
> MsYukari: It began with Joan and ends with Joan. We hope you have fun reading our work since we both got just as much enjoyment out of writing it.


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